Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. Montressor’s guests were. "By George!" he exclaimed. But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully. He gave her silence in return. 1715. He had absorbed her in a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. CHAPTER III.
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